Off Camera
by BestINeverHad
Summary: A Kimmett Fanfiction Kieron Richardson is gradually falling for the Irishman himself, Emmett Scanlan. During a whole whirlwind of events - filming, travelling and award shows - tragedy strikes and Emmett is left with a tricky decision.
1. Chapter 1

"Because I love ye. Because I can't live my life without ye; I love ye Steven."

"And cut!" Yells the director. I let out a breath, that I hadn't been aware I was holding, and smile at Emmett. He gives me a small smile back, one of those classic Emmett smiles where it almost looks sarcastic - but it isn't, and it warms your heart.

"Ye did good today," He nods, before adding in, "As always." He knows me so well. Knows that I'd come back with some dry comment – just today? Not other days too?

"Thanks, you too." I grin and he gives me a small wink. It's friendly and it means nothing to him, but it makes my stomach churn with little fluttery creatures. Yeah, so um, lately… I've been getting these feelings for Emmett. And they're consistent and aggravating – can't seem to get him off my bloody mind. Rather than thinking of reasons why I should avoid these feelings – he's straight, he has a girlfriend, he's got a huge muzzy – I just keep thinking about why the hell I never looked at him like that before. I mean, the moment he walked on set I thought he was hot, but that's as far as it went.

"Claire!" Emmett calls. My poor eyes are met by the sight of him pulling her into his arms and sweeping her up in a deep kiss. I have to restrain from sticking my fingers in my mouth and pretending to gag. That would only raise suspicion, since I've never had a problem with them up until recently. No one needs to know. Tearing my eyes away from the offensive display, I walk over to PJ and sit next to him. He's staring at something – or rather, someone – with a huge, goofy grin on his face. I follow his gaze; it lands upon Bronagh, in all her glory, dancing with a tutu on while wearing a green zombie mask and singing tunelessly. I don't bother suppressing the laughter that bubbles out from my lips; that strange donkey laugh of mine. Maybe you thought it was fake, a laugh I forced to fit Ste's image, but no. I am cursed with this horrific noise. PJ looks at me, listens to my laugh, and breaks into his own fits. Emmett comes over with his eyebrows raised, in that sexy Brendan kind of way that makes my heart wrench. "What's so funny?" Rather than speak, for my laughter is uncontrollable, I simply extend my arm and point my finger at the ridiculous fool in a tutu. Emmett tuts, but even he can't hide the fond smirk on his face. It's like the two of them really are siblings; just another thing that adds to my attraction for him. I sigh and shake the thought off – the thought also being the reason for my laughter dimming into distraught breaths. I'm such a bloody mong.

It's midnight now and I've woken up due to a dream involving a certain someone. My body is slicked in sweat, heart pumping ten to the dozen, my limbs practically quaking and my dick impossibly hard; painfully so. I've seen Emmett in just his boxers, but in the dream, I managed to see him completely naked. It may or may not have been an accurate image, but it couldn't have been too far off, since he was huge. Again, I curse myself and slam my head against the headboard. I'd sort myself out, but since I'm in the shared accommodation, the man of my dreams only in the next room, I have to leave myself alone; believe me, the struggle is real. I sigh and rub my temples, getting out of bed and walking out to the main area to get a drink of water from the kitchen. The walk there is extremely uncomfortable, with the tent in my boxers that refuses to go down. I grab a glass from the cupboard, accidentally slamming the door shut but not thinking much of it, and fill it with water. As I turn around, glass in hand, I nearly drop it with pure horror and embarrassment. There, standing by the table with wide, ocean blue eyes, aimed at my boxers, is a half naked Emmett: bed hair, shining skin, toned abs and chest hair. All his masculine glory. _That_ does _not_ help my situation.

"Well… aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He smirks, finally looking at my face, which I'm pretty sure if bright red. I can feel the heat radiating from it; I'm burning up.

"Uh… I um… Uh… Bye." I stumble over my words in the same manner that I stumble over my feet, nearly spilling the water everywhere. Even when I get into my room, the door closed securely behind me, I'm not far enough away to be out of ear-shot of Emmett's booming laughter. The fucker, him.

By the dawn of a new day, Emmett is ready for our day off. He's dressed in tight black jeans, a black t-shirt and a hoodie that reads 'luck of the Irish' across the back. I'm unable to avoid the smile that creeps onto my face; typical Emmett Scanlan.

"What do ye wanna do today, me dancing partner?" I've actually got plans for us already, he says with his grin's quirk.

"You've already got plans for us." I smirk and he rolls his eyes, tutting.

"Spoil sport," He complains, but there's light dancing in his eyes and a ghost a smile on his face that he's trying desperately to hide so he can continue with his moody pretence, "Come on then, Richardson, I'm starving."

"That appetite of Brendan's never was written into the script, was it?" I chuckle and he shrugs.

"I have a big appetite."

"You'll have a big gut!" I tease and he arches an eyebrow.

"Kieron, this is lean muscle," He says, lifting his shirt, and I have to stop myself from letting out a grunt – despite seeing his toned stomach many times before, "Ye know it." Shaking my head, I dismiss the topic.

"Onwards and outwards." I mutter, hiding my burning cheeks but he's already seen them; he's got that smirk on his face that tells me he has.

"Yup, onwards and outwards." He agrees and we begin our journey to wherever he wants to get breakfast at.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapters will be longer from now on.

"So, Kieron, there's a party tonight. Interested?" Emmett asks, as he polishes off his breakfast like some sort of an animal. How the fuck that is alluring or in any way attractive is beyond me, but this man is full of surprises. I grin.

"Always," he should know by now, "where and when?" I ask, washing down my breakfast with some orange juice.

"S'at Jamie's, and since we're living together, I don't think ye need to know when because ye'll notice me getting ready n' do the same, am I right or am I right?" Emmett smirks – sarcastic fucker – and stands up, grabbing his hoodie off the seat and shrugging it on, recovering his bulging biceps; shame.

"Yeah, alright Embo." I smirk. He merely rolls his eyes with a fond smile and places a hand on my lower back, steering me outside. There are a couple of fans there, one squealing about Kimmett. Emmett and I exchange knowing glances, going over to them and taking photos and signing t-shirts.

"Please kiss." The Kimmett fan squeaks and I find myself burning up at the suggestion. Emmett simply laughs and raises his eyebrows, before grabbing my face and giving me a quick kiss on the lips that has my insides bubbling up and my knees weak as jelly. "Oh my God!" She grins.

"See yis later, ladies. C'mon Kieron." I'm still melting, but I find it within myself to follow him.

"Gonna be pictures of that all over the internet by tonight, ya know, she snapped two photos n' it lasted for like three seconds," I smirk, "sure Claire won't be too happy." Emmett scoffs and shrugs.

"Pleasing the fans," he says simply, "besides, ye complaining that it didn't go on for long enough?" He stops and faces me, our chests flush and I'm chewing on my lip, everything inside me willing me to just grab him and smash our lips together but I know I can't.

"N-No." I stammer and he laughs, but it's quiet and seductive. He seems to look right into me, got this look in his eyes that suggests he's in deep thought, trying to figure something out and I pray to God that he doesn't work it out; pray to God that he doesn't realise my attraction for him – though to be fair, I think he'd have to be blind and deaf to not realise it. However, that's the problem with Emmett. Sure of himself, but he'll never realise his truth value.

"Hmm," it's a simple noise but it sounds like a conclusion; to what, I'm not sure, but it has my heart hammering in my throat , "come on then." And he's turning around and heading off again like those seconds, that felt like agonising hours, didn't just happen – I'm left following like a lost puppy. My heart is still bruising my ribcage and I have to take a couple of deep breaths to just steady its rhythm again. Sexy Irishmen shouldn't get so close and not do anything, it's not fair to the world. I sigh and rake my hands through my hair, before jogging and catching up so I can fall into step with him.

Emmett comes out of the bathroom in just a towel and my eyes, not so subtly, are drawn to his body. Damp hairs stuck to his lean abs and buff chest, little droplets of water falling from his structured jaw line and his hair is even darker, thick and flattened to his head. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight and chest heaving; he looks fucking delectable. You have no idea how much I want for him to just drop his towel right now.

"See something ye like, Kieron?" Emmett asks, smirking as he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a big bite, leaning casually against the table, towel hanging off his hips because he isn't holding it anymore and just staring at me, all intense like he's testing me, challenging me. Why, I haven't got a clue and for some reason, I'm not sure if I want to find out.

"Just thinking you should put some clothes on before you blind me, proper hairy, you." I smirk, but my voice is tight and he's already seen right through it.

"More like put some clothes on before ye get a hard on." He winks and I can sense that I'm bright red; my body stiffens in response. "Relax, Kieron, ye know I'm only joking." He smiles.

"I know." I whisper, looking away and lying back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm aware that ye don't think of me in that way, take a joke." Emmett says, but there's a smile in his voice. And I'm smiling too, but it's a relieved smile – he doesn't know. "Anyway, just gonna shave me stubble, trim this thing down," he points to his moustache, "so I don't have handlebars and then the bathroom's free." I simply nod in response, trying to control the twitches in my lower regions and I'm extremely thankful when he's retreated into the bathroom. I sigh, long, hard and heavy. That man doesn't even realise the things he does to me. While he's in there, I decide I'll lay out my outfit for the party tonight. Smart casual, Emmett said. So I make my way into my bedroom and fling open my wardrobe doors, picking out some skin tight, dark denim jeans and a white button down shirt with pockets on the chest with rolled, short sleeves. I take a pair of boxers from my drawer – neon orange 'cause I'm cool like that – and pick a pair of black low-top converse. Suddenly there's a loud cough, or rather, a loud throat clearing, and I jump and see Emmett standing in the doorway, still in just a loose hanging towel. There's an overwhelming desire to just go over there and pull it away from him, but God knows what would happen. "Bathroom's free." With that, he leaves the doorway and goes into his bedroom. I sigh again, a frequent habit just lately, and pick up a towel from my pile, going into the bathroom.

When we're both dressed, we meet each other in the living room. My breath hitches when I see Emmett and I almost choke. He's wearing those tight black jeans with the leather belt, a grey, rolled sleeve, button down shirt and black loathers. His shirt clings to his stalwart muscles, which bulge in all the right places and don't even get me started on where his jeans cling to. All I can say is, wow; just wow.

"Ye look really good." He smiles and I'm blushing again – fucking too sexy for his own good, that man is.

"You too." I smile and he shrugs, a playfully cocky grin on his faces as he gestures to himself.

"Always." He smirks, and it's banter and it's jokey, he's not serious at all, but God he would be if he was looking at himself the way I am. I also notice that his moustache has been trimmed down, the handlebar ends shaved off so it only just surpasses his top lip and his stubble is shaved right down – he looks even better for it and I don't bother containing my urge to go over and stroke his moustache. He's not bothered when I do, not one bit, in fact he actually smiles really cutely and giggles a little bit. "Feather light touches are tickly, Kieron." He grins and I laugh, shaking my head.

"And that's adorable," I don't believe I just said that, "come on, take me to this party, Embo." I recover, passing it off as nothing. He doesn't mention my spontaneous compliment, doesn't ask me what the fuck I'm saying or why, just grabs his keys with a grin on his face, pearly white teeth and perfect lips curved upright, best smile in the world, and motions for me to follow him out. I'm grateful.

When we arrive, I'm pretty sure I can see the walls of the house shaking; the music is so loud that the ground is vibrating, like some sort of mini earthquake.

"Sure we're not gonna burst our ear drums while we're here, Emmett?" I yell over the music and he gives me a look of amused adoration; it sends a shiver down my spine, a shiver that leaves long-lasing tickles in its place.

"I'm sure we'll be fine Kieron, I mean, we both listen to ye screeching in the shower, we'll cope with this." He teases, smug and cocky and I'm tempted to slap the grin off his face – so I do. Not too hard, but hard enough to leave a small sting. I then laugh, to show it's nothing personal, that I did sense the joke, and he frowns at me, rubbing his cheek, before he smiles too. Inside, the music isn't much louder than outside – maybe because all the windows and doors are open, it's channelling out – and for that I'm grateful, because my ears would've started to bleed if it got much louder, I'm sure. It's rowdy and cramped inside and I don't miss it when Emmett accidentally touches my butt. I shudder but he doesn't notice, could've been anything, from someone knocking into me to feeling the chill of the night air, leaking into the house via every possible opening. His arm winds around my waist as he directs my through the crowd, lips warm and breath hot on my ear as he whispers "can't be losing yis" and he finds a quieter location of the house. This time, he doesn't miss the shudder that surges through me, the excitement of having Emmett's lips and warm breath so close to my face and making me twitch. I expect him to make a sly comment, or to raise his eyebrows in question; however, he simply found the alcohol and poured us a glass each. I smile and thank him, taking a large gulp of the liquor and wincing as it burns my throat.

"Bloody 'ell, Emmett! The fuck is this?!" I shriek, almost choking, and the smug git just laughs, "no really, what is it?"

"Just a bit of the Irish stuff." He grins.

"Bloody hell." I sigh, but take another sip anyway because, I find, that once the initial burn wears out your throat feels warm and soothed. Emmett smiles, lopsided, tilts his head a little and gives me a once over; it's that intense look again and it makes me feel hot all over, causing me to tug my shirt collar away from my neck – everything suddenly feels tighter.

Four drinks in and either I'm a lightweight or this stuff is really strong – I'm swaying like nobody's business. Emmett is laughing at me, because he's a dick like that, rather than helping me stand. I have to lean against the countertop to keep balanced.

"Ya know…" I start, but I'm not sure what I was gonna say, "Oh wait yeah," I remember now, "you could help me out 'ere, rather than- rather than jus-just stand there!" I accuse, my head spinning.

"I think we should sober ye up, Kieron, and get ye somewhere quieter." Emmett simply comments, routing through whoever's cupboard these are – I don't even remember where we are, never mind the name of the host – and finds bread, switches on the toaster and shoves it in.

"Nah! Don't be a- a- a kill joy!" I whine, flailing my arms about dramatically and hoping it'll persuade him into ceasing his actions – of course it doesn't.

"I'm not, you'll be drunk, Kieron, just not as," Emmett sighs, "I'd actually like to have a decent conversation with yis." He smirks, quirking his eyebrows and giving me those 'shamelessly-devouring-the-sight-of-you' eyes; I'm certain I must be dreaming, or maybe it's the drink, maybe it's affecting both of us, but he's definitely sizing me up, seeing what I've got to offer him. Usually I'd feel self-conscious under such an assessing gaze, because he's so much more than me, but with the alcohol sweeping through my veins, spiking my bloodstream, intoxicating me, I find it hard to care. In fact, I'm enjoying it. Feels nice to be appreciated, even if it is the poisons inside our bodies. My toast pops up and before I can protest, Emmett's got the toast in my mouth and he's moving my jaw; just because it's Emmett, I find myself giving in and going along with it. When I'm done, he gives me a glass of water and I drink it slowly, not wanting to shock my system and flood my brain – I don't fancy dying – and then he gives me the second piece of toast to finish with the rest of the glass. Ten minutes after it, I feel better, I can actually see straight and stand reasonably still but I'm still pissed off my head; during sobering me up Emmett downed another glass and a half and became a little more drunk, probably in the same state I am currently in. It should be repelling, to see someone drunk, should make them seem delinquent and unappealing. But Emmett, no, not Emmett. His blue eyes are glossed over, brought out more by the slight redness of his eyelids. His cheeks are flushed pink and it's gorgeous, highlights the glow of his eyes. Due to the stuffy atmosphere, we're both sweating; I don't know what I look like but the damp air is making his shirt stick to his muscles and I feel a twitch in my cock just seeing him like this. Intoxicated but fucking gorgeous. I'd hate to find a mirror by now, I'm certain I look like shit – especially in comparison with him. "Let's go upstairs, Kieron." He calls over the music, but not too loud, and there's a certain tone in his voice and I really can't figure out what it is, but I find myself liking it. It sends a buzz through my system, chills my bones – in a good way – and makes my skin more feverish. I stare at him, not caring what he reads from it, and nod, taking his glass from his hand and having a cheeky sip, before handing it back to him and letting him lead the way.


	3. Chapter 3

We finally find an unoccupied bedroom, after walking in on a threesome, two lesbian couples and a straight couple where the woman looked old enough to be the man's mother, or at least his mother's younger sister. When we step inside, Emmett rushes to lock the door.

"Don't want any more horny sods, do we?" He smirks and I chuckle, nodding and sipping back some drink – one which I picked up during our bedroom hunt. Emmett also picked up another glass. There's an en suite with drinking water and Emmett goes and tips away his alcohol, along with mine, and refills them with water.

"You are jokin', right?" I whine and he smirks.

"Nope, I wanna run through the scenes." He chuckles and I look at him incredulously. Emmett can be such a random fucker.

"We're at a fuckin' parteh, Emmett! Loosen up!" I complain and he smirks again, shaking his head and tutting.

"C'mon, Steven," he murmurs in that seductive Brendan Brady tone and I feel a shudder shoot through me, "practice with me." It sounds like a suggestive comment, a subliminal hint but it's either the alcohol or just me looking too much into things, so I pass it off 'til I can see a pattern forming. If I don't, it's just me; If I do, it's definitely him or the alcohol.

"Why?" I whinge and he huffs an exaggerated sigh.

"'Cause I don't see why not," he shrugs, "this party's about as fun as watching paint dry and running over the scenes sounds a lot more interesting because I enjoy my job," he shuffles so he's sitting with his legs crossed on the bed, facing me, "are you telling me we don't need the practice?" I have to laugh at that because, yes, he's right, we do need the practice. Emmett keeps saying things in the wrong order or laughing embarrassedly, complaining he feels ridiculous when he says those sultry, suggestive lines about being Ste's man – whatever the pleasure – and I keep getting choked up when I go to say my lines. They don't know why, but I do. The little secret of mine, y'know, fancying the pants off Emmett? The fact that he's hovering over me in that position, on a bed, every time we do the scene makes my blood rush hot, with his lips so close to mine as he says such masked filth, and then he has to kiss me afterwards. It's enough to make my blood sing and harden me. Thank God for the duvet. I really don't know why I do it, especially when I know the alcohol is going to make it ten times more dangerous for me, but I agree to it and shuffle under the duvet, pretending to sleep. I here Emmett's little chuckle, and I swear he whispers something about me looking cute, but it's probably just my imagination. I wake up, look around and he walks in, saying his bit about not getting rid of him that easy, then he sits at my side and pretends to eat bacon and I say my line, about wondering if it's all a dream. Before I know it, he's above me, lips dangerously close to mine and I can feel electricity jolt through my veins, all through my nerves and limbs and it makes my stomach flip sickeningly. I'm thrumming with adrenaline and desire and he's closer to me than he's supposed to be during filming, legs pushed further apart meaning his body is lower down, our groins almost flush, the only thing stopping full contact being the duvet and I'm sparking with it. I don't know if he intended it or not, however what I do notice is that he's certainly not feeling awkward about it anymore.

"In the meantime I'm gonna show you the sights, my sights." Emmett's voice is low and rough; it sends tingles throughout my skin and I'm sure it's flushed.

"Sounds promising." It barely escapes my lips, my breath is caught in my throat as he gets closer.

"Doesn't it? Anything ye wanna see," he kisses me, "or try," and a longer kiss, "I'm your man, whatever the pleasure." We kiss for the longest time out of all three, the prickle of his moustache scratching against my nose, his soft and plump lips feeling like heaven against mine and all of a sudden his tongue is touching onto mine, hesitant. It's not part of the script, but somehow I find myself going along with it even though I know I'm supposed to be saying "Guinness" right now. I can feel myself becoming aroused, as he bears his weight on his forearms, biceps bulging under my hands – I don't remember placing them there – and his body pushing down on mine. I've never been able to kiss him without the cameras, without order to it; there's something incredibly intoxicating about it and I can't help the small whimper that escapes my lips. The duvet is suddenly yanked from in between us and it's only our clothes coming as obstacles. Without warning Emmett rolls us over so I'm on top, his large hands splayed across my lower back and pulling me down against him as he deepens the kiss, grinding against me. I have to be dreaming, I have to be, but I can hear, feel, taste and smell everything and I know it's reality. My insides feel like they're on fire, there's some weird sensations, like very strong tingles, something I've never felt before and they shoot from my chest, through my stomach and down to my groin. I can feel him harden underneath me as well; I become lost in the moment of it. Our hands roam each other's body and I don't even know why or how this is happening, I thought Emmett was straight, not gay or bi or whatever he is. I'm not complaining though, and while I should be stopping this in case he regrets it once the alcohol has worn off, or feels guilty because of Claire, who can go to hell, I don't and I let it spiral out of our control.

Until a loud crash sounds and the music goes silent, just a few shrieks before silence fills the building.

We look at each other, eyes wide, panting and gasping.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I… I…"

"Don't be," Emmett mumbles, "it was my fault and uh… I uh…" he stammers, unable to form coherent sentences or excuses, whatever he feels the urge to say, "um, best go see what's going on, eh?" I nod and we get off the bed, both painfully hard – the bulges in our jeans prove it – and he runs his hands through his tussled hair, before offering me a sheepish, embarrassed smile.

Not a word is spoken when we stumble, drunkenly, through the threshold of the front door. Emmett keeps shushing me as he falls into things and I keep shushing him back when I fall into things, both of us giggling as we blame each other for the ruckus. Joe got back here today from his holiday, meaning we'll have to be quiet when trying to get to bed, but so far we've failed at that task. Emmett stumbles and nearly falls, so I have to catch him and we both snigger at the position. I've got one knee under the top of his back, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and behind his neck, one arm draped over his waist and gripping his hip.

"Shouldn't this be the other way around?" He smirks, raising his eyebrows in a taunting manner.

"Ey ar, you callin' me scrawny?!" I gasp, furrowing my eyebrows.

"No, course not," he smirks, "but we gotta make it believable." I pull him up and glare at him, before smirking.

"I'll show you who's scrawny." I grin and shove him against the wall, smirking in satisfaction as his arms fly up above his head and I immediately follow in. I don't know why I do it, because I really shouldn't, but I latch my lips over his. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away, just kisses me back with as much passion and I can feel my heart thud hard and heavy, a bruising rhythm that punishes my ribcage, and my head clouds, just white noise fizzing around my brain. Jolts surge through me and I swear his kisses might just cause me to explode. His hands are suddenly either side of my face, fingertips delving into the short hairs at the side of my head and my skin sets alight with everywhere he touches, as his hands move down to my shoulders, walking me into the living room, then down to my lower back to bring me closer. I'm breathless with it, but I daren't pull away, scared to break this little spell. I'm high on him, his scent – clean sweat, aftershave, booze and mint chewing gum – and the way his touches spark things inside of me that I didn't even know were there 'til he brought them to life.

"What the fuck?!" Joe's voice booms and startles us, sending us both flying backwards and we look at each other, again, with wide eyes. My chest is heaving, heart banging, pulse racing, skin tingling, stomach flipping and I'm no longer sure if it's the kiss or being caught in the act of snogging the face off a straight man who has a girlfriend. Emmett's breathing just as hard as me, lips parted and hands shakily gripping the counter he's up against. It's then that I notice the more embarrassing problems – tents. In our trousers. Very obviously there. Joe's looking at us both like we've got three heads each. "Would somebody like to explain to me what the fuck is going on?!" I stutter and look at Emmett for help, but his eyes are just wide. He looks like he's in a state of shock. Even though I'm feeling less drunk on alcohol, more drunk on Emmett's kiss, I use the only thing I can.

"Err…" I stumble, deciding to slur my voice more purposely, "I fink… um, booze n' tha' in-init?" Joe glowers at us both.

"You do both realise that one of you is in a relationship with a woman, right?" Joe asks, tone dangerous, almost as if there's a masked threat in there, one that suggests he'll tell Claire. Emmett and I just look helplessly around the room, anywhere but at Joe's burning gaze; that guy can be quite discomforting for a small guy. My whole body is trembling; adrenaline and terror pumping through me. What if he tells Claire? What the hell is going to happen next? Why the fuck weren't we more careful? Why did that even happen in the first place? I'm sure Emmett regrets it now anyway, especially since his girlfriend has been brought into the picture. His eyes lower to the ground and he looks ashamed, which makes my heart drop to the floor and tears threaten to fall. He's ashamed of me. He's ashamed of kissing me.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello! First of all, I'm very sorry for making you all wait this long for an update – I've been focussing on "Scared", not to mention the fact that I have about 70 publications on another website that need looking over and updating/publishing. Secondly, I'd like to thank you all for reading this story. It means a lot to me. And thanks to everyone who takes the time to review; your reviews make my day. Seriously, 50 reviews for 3 chapters? I'm honestly blown away. **

**Not to be rude – well, actually, I don't care how this is perceived – but to the guest that said I'm horrible for not updating and basically a disappointment, if you actually read my profile, you'd see the little note explaining why it's been so long. That actually really pissed me off. Thank you for reading, anyway, and I'm sorry it's been a while. **

**Thank you all so much and I hope you'll continue to enjoy this fic. **

**Shout-out to StendanMoustache and FemaleRobbery – thank you so much.**

My head pounds when I wake up and it takes a while for everything to come into focus. I groan in time with the crack of my aching joints and stretch out my muscles along the bed, like a huge cat. A loud yawn escapes my lips and makes my head hurt worse – I'm left lying half dead with my face stuffed into the side of the mattress. Worst hangover ever! And we have filming to do today.

"Fucking hell's sake." I grumble, as I bring my clammy palm to my damp forehead. Worst. Hangover. Ever. With a pillow in hand, for some reason, I stand up and walk aimlessly in my bedroom, my brain working at a hundred miles per hour trying to figure out what the hell I was thinking last night; what the hell we were _both _thinking. How could I have let that happen? I knew he'd regret it afterwards, I just knew it! And as if that's not bad enough, Joe caught us! Joe! Throwing the pillow onto my bed and suppressing my undying need to scream, I walk out of my bedroom and into the main area of the complex – the kitchen / living room. Emmett is sat perched on the breakfast bar, arms folded across his chest as he stares, dazed, at the floor. He's already showered and dressed except for a t-shirt, allowing me to see the taut muscles of his solid stomach and the smattering of hair on his pale skin, the tattoos on his torso and the flex of his biceps. I swallow thickly and avert my gaze. Joe is sat opposite, on a little stool, looking unimpressed. "Uh, hi." I whisper, watching as Emmett's head shoots up.

"Sleep okay?" He asks, completely dismissing Joe's presence now that I'm in the room and I notice how Joe's eyebrows scrunch together in annoyance.

"Um, I guess, but waking up could've been a bit nicer." I reply with a sigh, shuffling over to the cupboards in search of cereal. I grab some chocolate cheerios and a bowl. "'Bout you?"

"Same, if I'm honest." Emmett smiles, small and weak but it's there and now I can see how this is going to play out. We're just gonna pretend it never happened but, no doubt, we won't be able to continue that way for long. If Joe doesn't tell Claire then Emmett will, because I know how much he respects and loves her. I know he's a gentleman. The thought makes me feel queasy; how can I face Claire ever again after this, how can I ever work with her again?

"Right, so that's how it's gonna be is it, you're both gonna pretend like nothing happened here last night?" Joe asks and he sounds disgusted. I snap.

"Yes!" I yell, storming over to him, "Yes we fucking are! Because that's the way it has to be and that's the way it's going to be! Because it was a fucking mistake! Don't you dare fucking turn your nose up at us – you're no saint!" I screech, "It was your fault that Dean and Barbara split up so don't you fucking dare!" With that, I storm into the bathroom and slam the door shut, locking it and turning around to slump against it on the floor. Everything seems to pile on me – knowing Emmett is someone else's; knowing that we're both going to be shamed; knowing that he regrets it; knowing that he's going to be hurt because of a mistake _I_ made. Once they come, they don't stop. Hot, bitter tears streaming down my cheeks, some catching on my lips and they taste as bitter as they feel – as bitter as _I_ feel. My body quakes violently, breathing strangled by sobs and I hate myself for crying, hate myself for being so weak. And I know they can both hear me. That just makes it worse. Emmett will think he's done something wrong and he'll feel more guilty and he'll feel bad but it's not his fault, it's mine. Just thinking about him suffering is making my turmoil increase and my emotions spiral out of control. I'm out of my own depth here.

"Kieron…" Emmett's voice slips through the cracks of the door, etches itself into my ears and he's knocking, the vibration travelling through my body and I let out a small hail of frustration. Why must it feel like everything he does is connected to me? "Kieron, can I come in?" I stutter through torrential sobs and try and pace my breathing.

"No, I'm gonna take a shower." I answer him, voice weak and cracked and God, I seriously consider running a bath instead and drowning in it.

"Do ye really think I care? Let me in." Emmett responds and my heart does a little skip. I shudder, standing on shaky legs. As soon as I unlock the door, Emmett barges in, closing the door behind him and locking it again, before turning to me and rapping me in his arms.

"Err, Emmett, I stink. Gerrof." I whine, still tearful.

"Don't talk shit." He grumbles, breath hot on my shoulder, voice quivering through my flesh and his lips are pressed solidly against the bone there. I splutter a little, wrapping my arms tight around his body and delving into the comfort of feeling his warm, bare skin against mine. His body is solid but his skin and chest hair is surprisingly soft; he feels better than any pillow could. "I'm sorry." He whispers and I stiffen slightly in his arms.

"There ain't no reason for you t' be sorry, Emmett, ight? S'my fault." I whisper, stuttering and swallowed by the aches in my chest.

"It's not yer fault, Kieron," he sighs, "stop blaming yerself for every wee thing, okay?" I resist the urge to argue, not wanting to cause a dispute and ruin the moment. Instead, I move my head so my nose is buried into the dip between his chest and throat, inhaling his scent. Lemon shower gel and something faintly sweet, something that is and only ever will be, Emmett. I manage to stop blubbering, manage to get my breath back, and I feel a little embarrassed, but Emmett is able to rid that feeling just by sweeping his fingers through the short hairs at the back of my head; his chest is sticky with my tears but he doesn't seem to mind. "Ye okay now?" He asks and I nod slowly, but cling tighter, telling him through small, physical actions that I don't want him to stop yet. And he gets the message, just like he always does. And he stays, just like he always does. Because that's who Emmett is. He's a gentleman, a doting father and the best friend you could have in the whole world; won't ever let you down, not on purpose, and will always look out for you. And that's what I have to remind myself. He is and only ever will be a friend. At that thought, something seems to twang inside me and I feel exhausted.

:::::

After a refreshing shower, a long chat with Joe and some breakfast, Emmett and I are at the set, ready with bags. We're about to go to Ireland because, now, we're ready to do the filming for real. I've put aside the issues of this morning and the events of last night and I'm standing next to Emmett, our hands grasping, fingers entwined, as I beam and squirm with excitement. He's looking at me affectionately, like I'm the most important thing in the world and my cheeks flush with it, heart beating rapidly. After a pep talk and a good luck wish from the team, myself, Emmett, some of the camera crew, the executive director and other vital members of the team all pile into taxis – airport bound. Emmett puts our suitcases into the boot of the taxi and I sit as patiently as possible, waiting for him to join me. He clambers into the car, handing me the packet of paracetamol and the bottle of water that I requested earlier, and closes the car door, telling the driver that we're ready to go. I swallow down two tablets and hand the tablets and water back to Emmett, who also takes two and puts them into a little bag.

"Ever been to Ireland before, Kieron?" He asks and I shake my head.

"Nope but I'm dead excited, me!" I beam and he laughs, deep and husky, sending shivers down my spine.

"Well, the capital is a fantastic place to start." Emmett smiles and I grin, somehow, wider than before. He chuckles again. "We're gonna be filming on Ha'penny bridge. Gorgeous this time of the year, all pretty lights and starry skies, the water looks pristine, reflects everything in sight. And of course, when we're not filming, I have to take yis to the Leprechaun museum – have te. It's a must." Emmett grins and I widen my eyes excitedly.

"There's a leprechaun museum?!" I shriek and he smirks, placing a palm over my mouth briefly before nodding and placing his hands back into his lap.

"Yeah, with giant chairs and stuff, so ye can feel what it's like to be a leprechaun. Took me daughter once – she got stuck." Emmett laughs fondly, eyes looking off into the distance as he remembers it. I beam and unbuckle my seatbelt, sprawling over the backseat and resting my head in Emmett's lap. "Oh yeah? As long as you're comfy, ey?" He smirks, arching an eyebrow. I mumble and 'mhm' and snigger into his knee.

"Telling me it bothers you?" I ask and he just huffs, tapping my cheek lightly.

"Cheeky bugger, ain't ye?" I simply nod and close my eyes, relaxing into the relaxed muscles of his thigh. I swear, he's the comfiest person in the world. The road is a little bumpy as the taxi man drives us to the airport and I feel myself getting a little queasy. I stomach it as best as I can, begging myself not to vomit over Emmett's legs. My skin heats with the effort and I jolt forward, clutching my stomach.

"Y'alright, Kieron?" He asks and I shake my head.

"I think I'm gonna puke." I muster up the courage to speak without spilling my guts into the back of the taxi and Emmett frowns, making the driver halt. As soon as he finds a place to pull over, I quickly dart out of the car and hurl into a nearby bush. Emmett comes behind me and rubs soothing circles onto my back and for the first time ever, it actually helps.

"Are ye usually travel sick?" He asks and I shake my head, before emptying another load onto the poor, unfortunate shrub. Eventually I manage to stop and Emmett hands me the water bottle. I gargle it, feeling it soothe the scratches caused by the bitter taste, then spit it, before chugging some down.

"Got a mint?" I ask and Emmett laughs, handing a packet of strong, mint chewing gum to me.

"I'm Brendan Brady," he smirks, "I have to." I simply smirk and roll my eyes, pushing three into my mouth and handing him the packet back, as he gawps at me. "Greedy fecker." He smirks and I flip him off with a cheeky grin, getting back into the car.

:::::

When we arrive at the hotel, the first thing I do is flunk onto the bed, face first, sprawling out like a starfish. The mattress is soft but firm, gloriously comfortable; Emmett joins me.

"This is where we'll be filming the, I don't know, morning scene I guess. We should give it our own little name." He breaths a chuckle and I arch an eyebrow with a playful smile.

"Oh yeah, like what? The morning after the night of mind blowing make-up, lost time, completely amazing, typical Stendan style shagging slash love-making?" We stare at each other for a moment, gormless, disbelieving looks on our faces, both of us wondering where the fuck that came from, before bursting into fits of laughter.

"Kieron Richardson, you're a wee bit of a man whore, ain't ye really?" Emmett stutters and I gasp, mock offense, slamming a pillow into the back of his head twice. He stares at me wide eyed, glares actually, before grabbing a pillow and jumping up. "Oh it's on."

:::::

"So you're telling me, the pillows just magically exploded?" The hotel manager questions, giving us a disapproving stare, his hands on his hips in a somewhat sassy fashion and his tone is patronising, as though he's asking a couple of kids. To be honest, though, we have been behaving like some. Emmett stifles his laughter, whereas I'm completely pink in the face with embarrassment.

"No, uh, it were like that when we got 'ere." I stammer and the hotel manager pins me with a menacing glower, looking like he wants to grab my throat and watch as my face goes blue, a satisfied smirk on his sour face.

"Ye might be celebrities, but that doesn't mean you've got the right to behave like a couple of buffoons. I've met more civilised toddlers. I want thirty-five Euros from both of yis – and you're lucky I'm only charging that. Those pillows were twenty each." Emmett takes his wallet from his back pocket and fishes out some notes, handing them to the hotel manager who counts them, before shoving them into his pocket and bustling off somewhere. As soon as he's gone, Emmett explodes, red in the face, his laughter bouncing off the walls and I'm surprised he's not wetting himself.

"It's not funny!" I hiss, "That were well embarrassin' that were!" Emmett simply laughs harder, choking in his quick, forced recovery to remain quiet and emotionless when the manager returns with two new pillows. He hands them over, grumbling something under his breath, before he turns and takes the elevator to the bottom floor. Emmett quickly darts back into the bedroom and dives onto the bed, face buried deep into the duvet as he releases the last of his sniggers. I roll my eyes, smacking him over the head when I sit next to him. "It's not funny and you're a fucking idiot."


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I am so, so, so, so sorry about my appalling update speed. I really hope you can forgive me.**_

_**To say sorry, this chapter is nothing but pure fluff. **_

_**Indulge yourselves!**_

The directors have given the cast a day off to explore the beauties of Dublin, Ireland, and so Emmett thought it only right to show me around the many places he's made memories in. I, of course, am incredibly excited. I was up at the crack of dawn, unable to keep my insides from bubbling with happiness. Rolling around in the sheets was all I could do as I tried to contain myself, but it also made me incredibly overheated and Emmett's warm body next to me wasn't helping. I'd poked at Emmett, when I finally decided I couldn't wait any longer, until he woke up. It was half five in the morning and to say he was unimpressed is an understatement. Still, he got up.

I have a shower when we finish our room-service breakfast and wash myself with the complimentary shampoo and conditioner, both of which smell pretty neutral and that's a shame – I really like fruity and chocolaty stuff. When I'm done, I get out and towel dry myself, then wrap it around my waist and squeal as Emmett waltzes in as if there was no chance I could've been completely naked. I am, in fact, but I happen to have a towel around me.

"Emmett! You coulda seen everythin' then!" I screech and he simply chuckles, beginning to strip off.

"Ye were taking too long, Kieron, now either get out or stick around for the show – because believe me, I have no shame." He chuckles and I snort, rolling my eyes in disbelief. He wouldn't really get naked and have a shower in front of me.

"Yeah, sure, okay. I'll stick around then." I scoff, folding my arms over my chest in a sassy manner. Emmett simply quirks his eyebrow up, before tucking his thumbs into his boxers and tugging them down. I widen my eyes before quickly averting my gaze and scurrying out of the bathroom, while squealing 'fine, okay, I'm leaving!' and the backing track to my squawks seem to be Emmett's booming laughter. I could seriously kill that man. Now all I can see inside my head is the image of his dick – not that I'm complaining, but it'd be nice to go throughout the day without feeling aroused. Seriously, that was _too_ big to be flaccid. I shake my head and scold myself. Clean thoughts are going to be needed if I'm to survive this trip. I'm already sharing a bed with him for crying out loud!

:::::

We slowly stroll over Ha'penny bridge and Emmett grins at me, a teasing quirk with his eyebrows as he mentions filming tomorrow, here, on this bridge, where Brendan will officially proclaim his love for Ste and they'll kiss for an age, wrapped in each other's loving embrace, in front of the romantic setting of Dublin's beautiful city lights, contrasting against the deep abyss above with its twinkling gems. Whether or not Emmett knows he's making my heart bruise against my ribcage, I'm unsure.

It sounds like some romantic film, produced by the finest director there is, where it's so heartbreakingly emotional and all you can do is allow it to suck you in, consume you. I'm too far gone, already consumed by it and allowing my dreams to be taken over by fantasies; what ifs and imagines, a wish that it could all be real.

For a breathtaking moment, it was.

And then in a devastating instant, it was gone again.

Now everything is back to normal, just us and our flirtatious banter that means nothing to him but everything to me, talking like best friends. And that's okay; of course it's okay. To be able to engage in such a way with someone so indescribably perfect is surely a blessing, but, of course, my desires lead me to wanting more, when really I have more than I could ever ask for. I must look wistful and sombre, as I think about these things with such depth, because I notice Emmett looking at me with concern.

"Are ye okay, Kieron? Ye haven't said anything for the past five minutes and ye look a bit… well…"

"I'm fine," I assure him, plastering my biggest smile onto my face and I must look frivolous, but it does the trick because Emmett is looking at me with soft eyes, a grin of fond amusement settling on his lips, "so, where to next, MoustIrish?" I chuckle and Emmett gives me a look that says only one thing: you're a weird man.

Shaking his head, Emmett huffs out a small laugh, his breath smoking on the air. It's chilly, here in Dublin, but it's not like it should be a surprise. It's early October, the start of winter, really, and Dublin can be freezing during the summer, or so Emmett tells me. Quite like England then, except England does get its moderate dose of sun. To be honest, I've got a few goose bumps myself, despite wearing a thick cotton tee with a fleece hoodie, my legs clad in denim jeans.

"I figured we could go to the Leprechaun museum, now, like I said on the way here." Emmett smiles and I beam, feeling excitement flutter low in my stomach and Emmett's eyes glitter, mirth dancing in their shine.

"You are _so_ taking a picture of me on a giant chair!"

:::::

When we pay to go into the museum, we're assigned to a tour guide. He's bubbly and jovial, seems like he's too in touch with his feminine side to be straight and he's verging into over-the-top camp, practically on the borderline; but he's comical and enthusiastic and it makes the tour pleasantly engaging and nowhere close to annoying, which had been my initial thought when he'd first introduced himself.

We walk through various rooms as he speaks of tales and legends, of the treasures of the Leprechauns and their admirable cunningness.

There's a corridor with rainbow tassels strung from the ceiling, that gradually get shorter – essentially, as he put it, we've now been shrunk to Leprechaun sized mortals, about to venture into the enormous human world.

And suddenly we're in a room, where everything is giant – and I do mean giant. Chairs of which my height doesn't even reach the cushion where you'd sit, and a width that must be double my height. I'm gasping and beaming; I think I'm more thrilled than the children here with their parents or siblings. Emmett simply laughs, deep and husky, as he snaps pictures of me attempting to scramble up onto the furniture.

I finally make it onto the chair and beam at him, looking like a dot amongst a mass of cushion and fabric and wood. Even the pillow is over half the size of me!

I scramble about, getting onto various pieces of furniture, and when I come to the last one, I find that I can't get down and rather than help me, Emmett decides it's the most genius idea ever to videotape my struggle. I'm looking down at him and begging for him to try and catch me, or at least let me lower myself down onto his shoulders; the items of furniture in here are suddenly the most perilous things I've ever been involved with in my entire life.

"Emmett!" I whine, in the manner of a small child, "Get me down!"

"Ye got yerself up there, Kieron, ye get yerself down." He sniggers, still recording me.

"You wouldn't be sayin' that to me if it were Kayla gettin' stuck up 'ere again!" I pout and he simply beams on, before deciding he is being a bit cruel to me now and he puts away the camera phone, into his pocket.

"Gimme yer hands." He says, standing up to his full height and reaching his arms out above his head. I can barely touch his fingertips, and my body is half hanging off this ridiculously large stool. He gets onto his tiptoes and our fingertips latch, tightly so, and he pulls me and I let out the most pathetic squeal ever, expecting to hit the ground. But I don't – Emmett manages to catch me and I'm left with red flushed cheeks, unable to make eye contact with any of the amused observers. Even the tour guide is trying to contain his laughter. The kids, however, don't care; they let it rip from their bodies, in fits, much to my humiliation. "Ye gonna go down now, Kieron?" Emmett asks with a small laugh, and I realise that I'm clinging to him with my legs around his waist, arms clinging around his neck and face buried into his shoulder. I shake my head, no, and he shrugs lightly before wrapping his arms around me again and carrying me. We must look a right pair, but I decide that I'm going to see how long this will last for, because there's something that feels incredible about being bundled up in Emmett's strong, muscular arms and being pressed against his solid front, warmth radiating from him and smothering me.

He doesn't put me down until the end of the tour.

:::::

We stop at a cosy little café on the corner of a cobbled street, which looks incredibly homely and inviting. The café itself is warm and small, intimate, and the lights are set to a low glow against the pastel shades on the walls. It's quiet and not too busy; I think I just fell in love with a café. Gentle music fills the spaces between people's conversations and I find myself wishing I knew where there is a place like this in England – if there is one at all.

Emmett and I pick a secluded booth, towards the far end of the café, and he goes up to order – we're both getting caramel hot chocolates with marsh-mellows, cream and chocolate dust. Full of fat and calories and perfect for winter weather.

I tug off my fleece hoodie and place it by my side, allowing the comfortable heat of the room to caress my cold skin. Emmett comes back minutes later and places the steaming cup of chocolate in front of me, its wig of whipped cream slowly melting against its temperature. I lick my lips and take the first sip, nearly burning my mouth but I swallow it quickly and allow the slow burn to warm my insides.

"So, wanna watch a film when we get back to the hotel?" Emmett asks and I ponder for a moment, before nodding.

"Okay, but it's winter and I'm in a warm and cuddly mood, so it has to be a romantic film!" I smirk and Emmett gives me a blank look, before shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"The things I do for _you_," he says, with a hint of exasperation, but also an underlying tone of something that sounds like adoration, and fondness, and my stomach flutters with it, "c'mon then, let's get these down us n' we can go to the local renting store."

:::::

We – or should I say, I – pick the film: Brokeback Mountain. Emmett finds it ironic that I'd pick a film about two men in love that have a forbidden romance, says it's like I'm moulding my life to Stendan. Oh, if he knew the underlying truth in his statement; how I desire for us to have such a raw, eternal romance.

Rather than let him know his words have an impact on me, I simply stick my tongue out at him and we got to the till with the film, taking a picture with the worker because she recognises us and she's about to squeal. We also grab some popcorn from the stand at the side of the counter, because it's traditional and why not?

When we get back to the hotel, Emmett puts the film on while I pour the popcorn into the big bowl and place it on the bedside drawers. I quickly change into a pair of pyjama bottoms, which Emmett teases me about endlessly because they're Garfield pyjamas, with a picture of lasagne on the arse that says 'good enough to eat', and he finds it amusing and for some reason, banter always becomes flirting when it's us two and I can feel the heat crawling under my skin, prickling me, as he asks just how good my lasagne is with a filthy edge to his tone; and it makes my veins thrum with adrenaline and heat, and it's irksome and torturous because I shouldn't be feeling this way for a straight man – a straight man who, obviously, does not reciprocate my feelings.

When things settle, and we finally get under the covers, ready to watch the film, my heart rate slows; though not by much, because Emmett is next to me, in the same bed as me, and our thighs are brushing the slightest bit and I can feel his heat through the thin cotton of my pyjama bottoms, and my peripheral vision is exposed to the glorious sight of Emmett's naked torso, all muscles and bulk and hair and God, what I wouldn't do to be dragging my fingers through the coarse strands on his chest while his abs lock up beneath me as we fall over the edge into oblivion.

The thought doesn't help me whatsoever, and suddenly my heart rate is back up, beating at a hasty speed, thwacking against my ribcage like it's trying to escape and Emmett must be able to hear it, how could he not? The way he's looking at me, instead of the film, focussed and intent, his eyes practically dissecting me and analysing each little part, must mean he knows what I'm thinking and the intensity of his gaze has me burning hot all over. He must know what he's doing to me. He probably enjoys making me feel claustrophobic, like I'm being smothered by him, must enjoy the way it makes me squirm. There's an undying need inside me to just take what I want from him, just take it and fuck anyone that has a problem with it, but who says he'd let me? Who says he wouldn't flip out and declare our friendship tainted, never able to return to what it once was?

Last time, he was drunk.

This time, he's sober, and aware, and he isn't distracted from thoughts of his girlfriend.

I may just end up going crazy before the night's through.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Two updates within a few hours! Love me, please… **___

After about a week of filming in Dublin, we're finally finished with the scenes, and the crew have decided on a bar crawl, "gotta do it when you're in Ireland," they say, and it's to celebrate our finally perfected scenes before we have to go back to England. Of course, it's the most genius idea of the century, and everyone's ready and piling into a random nightclub before it's even nine pm. We move through about six different clubs and bars, before we set ourselves up for the rest of the night in a nightclub called "Alchemy" on Fleet Street. It's thriving and almost seductive in its appearance; purple and orange lighting glowing from the ceiling and steps, blue glowing from the bar and pink shining on the walls, flame-looking artwork framed around the place and there's a pole or two standing sleek and tempting. Swirls slink their way across the flooring and silhouette over people's figures, lighting up their faces with tint.

Emmett's dressed in tight fitting, black jeans and a button down, baby blue shirt. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on, breathtaking, and he's leaning up against the bar and gazing at me from across the dance floor, and his eyes are deep and dark, searching. I take another sip from my beer bottle, pretending to be interested in what James is saying, but I'm more focussed on the way Emmett's eyes track the movement of my throat as I swallow, and the way he licks at his lips. The way his tongue peeks out between his lips makes my throat go dry; his lips are glistening, the shine of alcohol making them look irresistible, and his cheeks are flushed with the increasing burn of intoxication. Bryan is chatting away to him but, like me, he's uninterested in what's being said to him, more interested in holding my gaze and I swear he's testing me, or playing some kind of game, but under the weight and effects of alcohol, all I'm able to do is play along, and rise to his unspoken challenge.

Suddenly, I'm itching to move, adrenaline pumping in my system and I'm suddenly dragging James out onto the dance floor and he just laughs, going along with it. 'Darren Styles – Heartbeatz', is filling the club and I'm far from the world's best dancer but I love the song and I'm blazing with energy, my body moving, using the music to guide me, and then, abruptly, everyone including me is jumping up and down, because it's that kind of song, and it's a feel-good song. When I turn around, I see Emmett's eyes on me and he's got a dirty looking smile on his face as he watches me enjoy myself. I beckon him over with a curl of my index finger, but he mouths 'maybe later' and I'll hold him to it.

:::::

I go over to Emmett and he's as drunk as me, eyes glazed and he's making no effort to hide the fact that his eyes are roaming my body, paying particular attention to the sweat that shines in the dips of my shoulders, just above my collar bones. He orders us a round of shots; it's obviously a good idea. We down them, three each, before I make my way to the dance floor again and catch a quick sway to the ending of a song.

The song flips, and it's 'Haddaway – What is Love?' and I grin, because I know Emmett is getting up and making his way over to me. And then I feel his hands on my hips and I gasp slightly, wondering what the hell he's doing but I'm not complaining by any means, and I lean into the hold when his chin rests on my shoulder and he murmurs into my ear, "some interesting moves ye got there, Kieron," and I smirk innocently, turning around in his grip, "had you drooling, though," and he simply hums, non-committal and while he's not agreeing, he's not denying it either and something sparks through me, hot and thick and spine-tingling. And then the DJ is speaking into the microphone; he's taken a request and it's 'Jeremih – Birthday Sex'.

Emmett's hands wraps around my biceps as we dance, bodies so close but not touching, causing the most exquisitely torturous ache, a deep need to just push back and feel him pressed against me; and he lowers his head, tilts his lips to my ear and murmurs, hot breath caressing my ear.

"Isn't it a bit dangerous, us dancing together like this, to a song like this?" He asks, voice low and gravelly, sends shivers through my skin and gives me a pleasant buzz. I look around, notice that James has gone off somewhere and the other guys look too drunk to focus on anything, sitting in a booth and languidly sipping their alcohol. I look back at Emmett, into his eyes; they're blown wide and beneath everything is the underlying question of why, why is Emmett reacting this way to me?

But my own lust takes over it all and I give him a sultry smirk, arching an eyebrow.

"No one's watching," I challenge, "besides, getting drunk with you is dangerous but apparently we don't care about that." The small grunt that escapes Emmett's lips translates as 'touché' and, finally, he pushes forward that last centimetre and I can feel all of him moulded against me, muscles rippling as he moves, bulge pressing nicely into the bottom of my stomach and he's hard, hard for _me_, and excitement floods my veins, spikes my bloodstream, sends the flow rushing to my groin and I'm responding to him like I've never responded to anyone in my life. His skin is hot and he's burning up, his heat smouldering me and my hands end up finding their way to his chest, one dipping underneath the open collar of his shirt and my fingertips are grazing against the damp hairs there.

And then we're stumbling through the crowds; he's backing me into a corner, somewhere people can't see, and I'm high on this thrill, heart punching my ribcage and I can hear the _lub dub, lub dub, lub dub_ ringing in my ears. The proximity of him is driving me wild and I roll my hips into his contact involuntarily, probably look wanton and heady, out of my fucking mind, but I'm too far gone to care, and I know Emmett appreciates the friction when he responds, pushing back and suddenly the damp heat of his tongue is making its path along the pulsing vein in my neck and my breath is caught, the sensation knocking me dizzy and I'm tugging on his shirt, trying to draw him closer.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers into my ear, but all the while he's grazing his lips over my earlobe and I'm whimpering helplessly at the contact, "really shouldn't be doing this."

"Are you gonna stop?" I ask, breathless, and he doesn't speak again, answers my question by sinking his teeth into the flesh of my neck and sucking it into his mouth, his tongue dancing across the stinging flesh and it's agonising bliss, makes my breaths punch out of me like I'm wounded and my shameless moans pour out of my mouth, drowned by the music in the club but Emmett's ear is so close and I know he hears them, and the way his fingertips dig into my hips as he pulls me tighter, harder, against him lets me know that he enjoys them, wants more of the confirmation that he's making me feel good; and good is an underestimate, I've never experienced such immense pleasure and I can feel it down to my bones, weaving its way into my every cell and consuming me, making sure I'll never forget what it feels like to be taken this way.

He releases the tissue of my neck and his lips are on mine, soft and swollen and passionate, almost aggressive in his onslaught, and the scratch of stubble against my skin burns and it feels amazing, a rough sensation to blend with the pliability of his lips and the easy slide of his tongue as it enters my mouth. I'm grabbing at any part of him, nails dragging through his hair and down his back, trying to get him closer still though we're practically one body, but it's still not enough, and I realise that when it comes to this man, I'm insatiable, always needing more of him, addicted. His hands slip beneath the hem of my t-shirt, and he thumbs at my hips, his fingers digging into my sides, before he rakes his hands up my torso and allows them to explore, to tweak and scratch and massage and I'm lost in the sensations, what it feels like to have his large hands splayed across my torso.

Before I know it we're sneaking out, making our way back to the hotel and when we arrive, we fall onto the bed and our lips find each other's again, and shirts come off but no further, because he whispers, "nothing more than this, we can't go any further," and I accept it, tell him that I know, because we've already betrayed people just doing this, by leaning over the edge, and to allow ourselves to fall into that abyss would be unforgiveable. _This_ is unforgiveable, but we can't stop, and we're decent enough not to cross that other line, not to break those other boundaries.

What happens after this, I don't know, but it's not worth thinking about – not yet – and I let myself fall away into this temporary paradise and nothing else matters; it's just me and Emmett and the beautiful feel of hot skin pressed together.

:::::

We don't talk about it, in the morning, but exchange soft, knowing smiles and for now it's our secret, an unforgettable night that only we know about. But I don't know how much longer it'll be a secret. Because I know Emmett feels guilty for cheating on Claire; heck, I feel guilty, too. I know he's going to tell her, because Emmett is a good man like that. He's honest and he'll own up to it, will tell her how sorry he is that he's hurt her.

I don't know what I'll do, when it happens. The thought is actually rather terrifying, admitting to someone that, yes, I engaged in a heated make-out session for hours on end with their supposedly straight boyfriend – especially when I have to work with that person day in, day out.

And then, of course, there's the magazines and the paparazzi, who'll be broadcasting the story to everyone: Emmett Scandalous – Emmett Scanlan's affair with co-worker Kieron Richardson.

I can see it now.

But for now, none of it is worth stressing over. It'll happen when it happens, and we both have to accept that and try and remain calm, level tempered. It won't be easy, but we'll have to try. I guess we didn't really think about all of this stuff beforehand; then again, we weren't really thinking at all, were we?

When we take our seats on the plane, Emmett and I sit in comfortable silence, both of us watching a film on his screen and I'm leaning against his side, head on his shoulder, because last night hasn't affected how we act with each other normally, the way in which we act around everyone else, thought it may have sparked something inside, like the feeling of torture that we can't kiss and hold each other like we did last night in front of the others – or at least, it's that way for me. We're a tight bromance to everyone else and, for now, only the Kimmett shippers would be delighted about the two of us getting together.

For all I know, though, Emmett may not even want anything serious from me, not with what's at stake and the fact that every time this has happened he's been drunk only serves to support that theory. The thought makes me feel a little hollow, but I try to ignore the feeling, and eventually I can relax enough to let my body go slack as Emmett's arm curls around my shoulders and he absentmindedly draws patterns on my collarbone with his fingertips. People notice, but nobody says anything, because it's completely normal for us to behave this way around each other. James actually takes a picture of us, says he plans to upload it to twitter lately and see how many fans eat it up and 'fan girl' over it. Emmett and I simply laugh, lightly, before settling into watching the film again. I'm not even sure what we're watching, to be honest, but it's amusing and I find myself laughing, while also enjoying the way Emmett's chest rises and falls when he chuckles along with me, the sound sparking at my nerve endings and it vibrates through me.

I eventually slip into a quiet, peaceful slumber, and forget about what drama will surely stain my life within the next couple of weeks.


End file.
